What the Hart Wants (Headstrong Harts Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  “Are you seeking to ingratiate yourself, sir?” Mrs. Forbes asked.

  “I wouldn’t dare be so impertinent,” Fraser said. “Any form of subterfuge is to be abhorred. I believe in complete honesty and revile those who conceal the truth.”

  Miss Hart flinched, and a slight bloom crossed her cheeks. She rose from her seat, excused herself, and exited the kitchen.

  “Miss Hart seems discomposed,” Fraser said.

  “Perhaps she has something to conceal.”

  “What can she have to hide?” Fraser asked.

  “We all have secrets,” Mrs. Forbes said. “It’s how we protect ourselves.” She leaned forward. “Why are you here?”

  He picked up a fork and rubbed the cloth against it, running his fingertips along the tines.

  “I’m here to help,” he said. “It seems s you are in need of resources—time and funds—both of which I can give you.”

  “Miss Hart told me a different story,” Mrs. Forbes said. “She said you’d made a wager with her. That she’d teach you to look at the world from the eyes of the less fortunate and, in turn, you’d teach her to enjoy the pleasures the world can give her.”

  She fixed him with her direct gaze, and his cheeks warmed with shame, as if he were a young lad being admonished by his nanny.

  “You make me sound like a cad, Mrs. Forbes.”

  “I speak as I find.”

  He smiled. Despite her hostility, her directness was a refreshing change from society ladies who fawned over him for having a title.

  “Very well,” he said. “I agreed to come here because Miss Hart wishes to open my eyes to the plight of others. And I can assure you, Mrs. Forbes, that once my eyes are fully opened, I’ve no intention of closing them again.”

  “Mere words, sir, honorable though your sentiment may be.”

  “Aye, they are,” he said, “but perhaps some actions will assure you of my sincerity. I understand you seek to provide introductions into employment for your inmates once they’re ready to leave your premises and seek independence. I can help in that regard. I have an expanding business in need of employees, and my house in London will soon need staff.”

  “What about Miss Hart?” she asked. “Are your intentions toward her just as honorable?”

  “That depends on your definition of honor,” he said. “I have no intention of deceiving, hurting, or disappointing Miss Hart. Neither will I treat her as inferior because of her sex. I shall respect her wishes and desires and strive to understand her sentiments.”

  He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But, as I have pledged to open Miss Hart’s eyes to the delights of such pleasures which can be experienced in order for her to enjoy life to the full, I cannot promise that some of the more conservative members of society would consider my intentions to be honorable.”

  Mr. Forbes’s mouth twitched into a smile.

  “I believe my friend may have met her match,” she said. “She needs someone to challenge her in order to keep her stimulated.”

  “I intend to stimulate her at every turn.”

  A cough made him look up. Miss Hart stood in the doorway, holding a baby in one arm and a child aged about four or five, clinging to her free hand. Her hair had come loose, and tendrils surrounded her face. The sight was not unwelcome, as it reminded him of her disheveled state when she had come undone at the touch of his fingers. He drew in a sharp breath as his breeches became too tight.

  Mrs. Forbes exchanged a look with Miss Hart, then rose from her seat. “I trust the silver won’t be too taxing for you, sir,” she said. “If you perform satisfactorily, then next time you visit, I may permit you to serve tea in the parlor.”

  She approached Lilah, and the two exchanged a quiet word, then she kissed the baby on the cheek, patted the toddler’s head, and left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  Lilah joined him at the table, and the child fidgeted in her hand.

  “Let me help,” Fraser said.

  “Take Will. He’ll be less trouble.”

  Fraser reached for the child, but the boy shrank back and buried his head in her skirts.

  “I can think of better places to hide than a lady’s dress, young man,” Fraser said. “There’s barely enough room for her legs. And when she moves, you must move with her to avoid discovery. I prefer to hide somewhere much more exciting, such as the coal cellar. You could remain there for hours undetected.”

  The child turned to face him, curiosity in his expression.

  “Of course,” Fraser continued, “I wouldn’t hide in the coal cellar during winter. Imagine what would happen if you were shoveled into the fire by mistake?”

  He lowered himself onto the floor until his eyes were level with the child’s. “What say you, young sir? Would you relish the prospect of being roasted on an open fire? I daresay if we surround you with a few potatoes and a carrot or two, you’d make a tasty meal.”

  The child giggled, and Fraser lifted him into the air.

  “So, young man, what would you like to do when you’re older?” he asked. “Are you an adventurer? Perhaps a privateer who’ll make his fortune on the seas?”

  The child’s eyes lit up. “Would I get to fight pirates and brigands?”

  “I daresay ye would. A captain must lead by example and show he’s stronger than the rest of his crew.”

  “I should like to fight,” the boy said.

  “Really!” Miss Hart said, disapproval in her expression. “He’s too young to be discussing such things.”

  “It is never too soon for a boy to learn how to be a man,” Fraser said.

  “He’s a child,” she chided.

  “And he lives in a man’s world. You wouldn’t want him to hide in his mother’s skirts all his life, would you?”

  Fraser turned to the child. “Of course, a man, even a seafaring captain, must be gallant.” He winked at Miss Hart, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  “In order to truly become a man,” he said, “you must learn to protect those around you, as well as think for yourself.”

  “I should like that,” the child said. “Then, I can look after Mama and my sister.”

  “Shall we learn the skills of a man together?” Fraser asked. “See this silverware here? A gallant knight must learn to take care of his sword by cleaning and polishing it.”

  He pointed to a butter knife. “This,” he said, “is a similar shape to a scimitar, used by the Moors during the crusades. Imagine how silly the warriors would have looked if their blades were dull and lifeless on the battlefield. Now picture the blade shining in the sunlight, flashing with light, fire, and determination.”

  The child picked up the knife and inspected it.

  “Shall you tend to your sword, Sir Will?” Fraser asked.

  The boy picked up a cloth and began rubbing the knife with it.

  Lilah smiled. “I’ve never heard such a ridiculous speech be employed in order to acquire free labor from a child,” she said. “You are to be commended, sir, for you seem to have a natural talent when it comes to children.”

  “Careful, Miss Hart,” he said. “That is dangerously close to a compliment.”

  He addressed the child, though he fixed his gaze on Miss Hart. “I do believe, Sir Will, that I’ve just won a victory. I have earned praise from my harshest critic.”

  She let out a laugh. “I doubt I’m your harshest critic when there must be so many to choose from.”

  “Perhaps not my harshest,” he said. “I’ll leave that thorny crown for the despicable Jeremiah Smith and his confounded essays.”

  She flinched and looked away.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “a more fitting label for you, is that of the critic whose opinion I most value.”

  She colored and dropped her gaze to the baby in her arms.

  “Of course,” he continued, “I could say the same for your talent with children. That wee bairn has hardly stirred and seems quite at home with you.”

  She loo
ked up and smiled. For a brief moment, a connection sparked between them, and he pictured her sitting upright in bed, cradling a baby with brown eyes and a shock of red hair…

  The moment passed, and she looked away. She might profess not to aspire to motherhood, but the need radiated through her body until he could almost taste it. The need to be loved, unconditionally, and to love in return.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon in companionable silence, Fraser polishing the silver, aided by Will, and she tending to the baby. As Fraser was placing the last of the knives into the box, Mrs. Forbes entered the kitchen.

  “I see you’ve completed your task,” she said. “Delilah, dear, your tea’s waiting in the parlor.”

  Fraser pulled out his pocket watch. It was almost four o’clock. “It’s time for me to leave,” he said. “Mrs. Forbes, I thank you for your hospitality and trust I may be of service to you again. In the meantime, I have a token of my appreciation for you.”

  He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask.

  “What’s this?” Mrs. Forbes asked.

  Fraser lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I trust you won’t turn me into the authorities, Mrs. Forbes,” he said. “This is if I say so myself, a rather fine malt.”

  “And it’s not legal?”

  “It is now the Excise Act has been passed,” Fraser said, “but this particular whisky was, as we say, distilled under the light of the moon.”

  She opened the flask and sniffed at the contents. Then she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. Almost immediately, she spluttered and set the flask down.

  “Ye gods! It’s burning my throat!”

  “It is a little warming, to be sure,” Fraser said.

  A snort came from his left.

  “Miss Hart, are you well?” he asked. “Perhaps you’d care to join Mrs. Forbes in a taste? Unless you think it would be too much for you.”

  She fixed him with a stern look, reached for the flask, and took a gulp. Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes glistened as she returned the flask to Mrs. Forbes.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “An acquired taste indeed.” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Might I suggest, Mrs. Forbes, that you reserve it for your apostle spoons? If you dipped them into this, it would remove any tarnish at a stroke. Though be careful, it might dissolve the metal if left in for too long.”

  He clutched his hand to his chest in a gesture of mock hurt. “You impugn my product, madam. But I will confess this particular whisky is a little smoky on the palate. The whisky we’re currently producing will be a little sweeter, to cater to the English palate.

  Miss Hart wrinkled her nose. “I doubt my palate will ever see fit to enjoy whisky.”

  “But you were willing to taste it,” he said.

  “I’ll try anything new, Your Grace.”

  He rose to his feet and gave Mrs. Forbes a bow. “Today has been an education,” he said. “I hope you’ll permit me to visit you again.”

  “Of course,” she said. “And no, Miss Hart will see you out. Delilah, dear, make sure he leaves by the back door.” She turned to Fraser. “I mean no disrespect, but I trust you understand our need for discretion.”

  Miss Hart handed the baby to Mrs. Forbes, then led Fraser to the back door.

  “May I accompany you home?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I promised Mrs. Forbes I’d help prepare supper.” She opened the door, and he breathed in the rush of fresh, evening air.

  “Do you have safe passage home?” he asked.

  “Dexter is sending his carriage later.” Her face softened, and she lifted her lips into a smile.

  “Your brother is a little stern,” Fraser said, “but he seems a good man.”

  “Despite his appearances, he loves us all and wants what’s best for me, even if we disagree on what that is.”

  “There’s no shame in being loved by another.”

  “And…” she hesitated… “are you loved by another?”

  “A man has no need to be loved.”

  “We all need love,” she said. “A soul without love would wither and die. I believe the root cause of the evils of the world is the absence of love.”

  “And on what do you base your argument?”

  “One only has to look at those whom we despise.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your predecessor is the most obvious example,” she said. “The twelfth duke lacked a mother’s love because she died giving birth to him. As for his father, he was the epitome of evil.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the Molineuxs.”

  She looked away. “They’re notorious,” she said. “Their history is a lesson to society. The very worst of men.”

  “And is there no evil to be found among your own sex?” he asked.

  “There are plenty of examples. The Honorable Sarah Francis is one of the most unpleasant creatures I’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

  “But her father seems to love her,” Fraser said.

  “He indulges her,” she replied. “But indulgence isn’t love, and neither is showering a daughter, wife, or mistress, with gowns, trinkets, and money. It’s merely a form of bribery to absolve oneself from having to show affection or love. I’d rather be loved any day.”

  “And that you shall be,” he said. He took her hand, and she curled her fingers round his. Her skin was cool and smooth.

  Her breath caught, and she bit her lip and tilted her face to his.

  “So, Miss Hart,” he said. “Did you speak the truth earlier?”

  She lifted her eyebrows in question.

  “When you said you were willing to try anything,” he continued. “Is it now time to begin your education in the pleasures the world can give you?”

  “You make it sound unsavory.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I refer to the pleasure bestowed on us by Mother Nature. The clear air of the Highlands, the soft heather, the majestic mountains. A land rugged and wild.”

  “I’m ready,” she whispered. He lowered his head until their mouths almost met. She parted her lips, and her breath, warm and sweet, caressed his mouth. He lifted his hand and caressed her neck. He only needed to move a little closer, and he could claim her.

  “Miss Hart!” A voice called out from within the house, and she pulled away.

  “I must go,” she said. “Until we next meet.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “Until then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The carriage rocked sideways, and Lilah woke up. She yawned and stretched. Beside her, Sarah slept comfortably, but the man sitting opposite watched her, a thoughtful expression in his clear blue eyes.

  “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

  “About an hour. We’re almost there—take a look.”

  Lilah lowered the window and was met by a rush of cool air. The landscape was a vibrant green, which turned purplish toward the horizon, where a mountain stretched toward the sky. Slopes, dotted with trees, grew higher with jagged snow-topped peaks, which glistened in the sunlight.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It’s my home.”

  His words resonated with love. Almost as soon as they’d left London, his transformation had begun. Fraser was quite different compared to the brash Scotsman she’d sparred with on their first encounter.

  The mail coach had been full when it left London, but by the time they reached the Scottish border, the other passengers had disembarked. At each inn they’d stopped at during their journey, he acted the perfect gentleman, only touching Lilah to help her in and out of the carriage. Though he’d observed propriety, she was disappointed.

  Now they were in his private carriage, which had been waiting for them at Edinburgh. He’d grown even more distant as if the intimacy of his own coach had heightened the barrier of respectability.

  What had happened to his promise that he would teach her pleasure? />
  Perhaps he’d taken Dexter’s warning seriously. As Lilah’s brother had waved them off at the Saracen’s Head in Holborn, he asked Sarah whether she’d packed her mistress’s butter knife, then pointedly asked the ostler how easy it might be to geld a stallion with it.

  “The mountain looks very high,” Lilah said.

  “It is,” he replied, “but not insurmountable.”

  “Have you climbed it?”

  “Aye, but it’s a strenuous walk. There’s a drover’s road to the pass, just there.” He pointed toward a dip in the mountain. “From then on, one must tackle the rocks to reach the summit.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  A lazy smile crept across his face. “If I had my way, I would take ye anywhere, lass.”

  Her blood warmed at the wicked sensations his words elicited. She glanced toward Sarah, but her maid slept on. Not even the motion of the carriage over the bumps in the road roused her.

  “You will see my home soon,” he said. “Once we’ve passed the forest, the road begins to rise. Glendarron Castle is at the top.”

  Almost as soon as he spoke, the carriage entered a forest. Lilah leaned out of the window and looked up. The sun peeked through the trees in specks of light, which flickered as the carriage raced on.

  “Are you sure I won’t be inconveniencing your mother?” Lilah asked.

  “Of course not.” He grinned. “Ma always said I’d grow too big to be handled. She’ll be delighted to meet the woman who’s proven her wrong.”

  “In my opinion, mothers of dukes don’t take kindly to being contradicted in matters regarding their sons.”

  “But I was not raised to be a duke,” he said. “I was raised to be a man.”

  He took her hand. “There,” he said. “Look!”

  The trees thinned, and she caught a glimpse of a tall, square building. Without adornments, the building looked purely functional, a marked contrast to the ostentation of the castles she had seen in picture books as a child.

  “It’s rather plain,” she said, then immediately gasped in shame. “Oh! Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “Your honesty is what I value most about you.”